It's A Kind of Magic
by Kara's Aunty
Summary: It's December 1990, and Alice Cullen runs into one Professor Albus Dumbledore whilst on a shopping trip in London. Prequel to 'Food, Glorious Food'
1. Abracadabra!

**Disclaimer: **The Twilight series belongs to Stephenie Meyer, etc, etc. All other recognisable names or products belong to JK Rowling. I am making no profit from this rather dubious attempt to dabble in both worlds.

**Credit: **Twilight wikia and HP encyclopedia. Also, a nod to Queen for the use of their (fabulous!) song title.

**Chapter One**

* * *

_Wednesday, December 19th, 1990_

On their way back to the States from a Winter vacation in Italy, Alice and Jasper touched down at London Heathrow in the small hours of the morning, keen to do a bit of Christmas shopping in the bustling metropolis before joining the rest of their family for the holiday.

As both were hungry after the long flight, they despatched their luggage to the Ritz in Piccadilly via courier and then went deer hunting in Richmond Park. Mindful that it was a growing nature reserve, Alice and Jasper limited their kills to one each and buried the corpses afterwards, leaving no trace that they had ever been there.

Now, a day later, husband and wife had left the slushy winter streets behind them for the warm, elegant environment of Harrods jewelry department. Classical music of the season played softly in the background, and the air was pleasant with the aroma of cinnamon and spice. Society's elite streamed around and past them, eager to find tasteful gifts for their loved ones, and trying hard to pretend they were too sophisticated to stare at the two stunning tourists by the Cartier booth.

"I know I saw it here somewhere," murmured Alice, searching the holly-and-ivy festooned display cabinet for the necklace she had seen in her vision: a beautiful little two color gold diamond and sapphire carriage charm and chain. Esme would be thrilled with it – if only Alice could find it.

Jasper questioned the salesgirl, who was clearly torn between answering him and simply gazing at him in wonder.

"The pendant?" he queried for the third time, using his gift to snap her out of her state of adoration. It worked. Within seconds, the girl was all brisk business once more.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said in a crisp English accent. "I'm afraid that particular pendant has been reserved by the Countess of Carlisle: a gift for her granddaughter, I believe. She will be here within the hour to collect it personally. Might I show you something else? We do have a superb ruby necklace just in this morning ..."

Alice drew in a sharp breath, but had nothing to do with the fatefully named Countess of Carlisle. Amber eyes suddenly blurred as her clairvoyant gift kicked into full swing, showing her a vision of the strangest old man she had ever seen in her life.

She was barely aware of Jasper leaving the counter and gently guiding her some distance away; nor was she aware any more of the hundreds of hearts beating around them, pumping their lifeblood - and her potential sustenance - around their fragile bodies. For several minutes, she was lost in her own world, watching, studying, smiling, frowning …

Finally, her vision cleared, and Alice was herself once more.

"What did you see, pixie?" Jasper's hand was soft against her cheek, ever a comfort to Alice when her gift struck unexpectedly.

"I'm not sure," she replied in some confusion. "I saw an old man in a totally bizarre suit; we were dashing through the rain together, then everything blurred and I couldn't focus properly afterwards, no matter how much I concentrated."

"Were you in danger?" asked her husband, looking concerned. His fear was allayed when she shook her head.

"No. Not at all. Actually, I got a sense of happiness, elation even. But -"

Whatever else she had been about to say was cut off when a clock struck the quarter hour before eleven. Eyes widening, she grabbed Jasper by the hands.

"I have to go. I've only got fifteen minutes to get there or I'll miss him."

"I? You mean _we_."

"No. _I_. Look, honey, I'm sorry, I really have to go now. You need to finish up here. Get that carriage pendant for Esme, I don't care what you have to do. Tell the salesgirl you've been sent to collect it on the Countess of Carlisle's behalf, or something. It's sort of true. Esme is _Carlisle's_ countess, isn't she?"

Jasper looked slightly panicked - a very appealing look - and if Alice had more time to spare, she'd like to stick around and tease him about it.

"You're gonna leave me in a storeful of England's wealthiest humans by myself?" he hissed, his voice so low that only she could hear him. "What if I drain half of them before you hit the sidewalk?"

She laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound that drew admiring gazes from men, and envious ones from women. "Don't be silly, sweetie. You know I'd never abandon you if I knew that was going to happen. I've already seen you charm the pendant out of the poor girl and go straight back to the hotel. You'll spend the next several hours watching re-runs of Star Wars, the Wizard of Oz, and the Christmas Special of a show called Boon, which you'll love." Pulling him close, she kissed him full on the lips, then gave him a dazzling smile before rushing away to meet her soon-to-be friend.

"Sir, are you still interested in the Cartier necklace?"

Huffing in irritation, Jasper returned to the salesgirl to do his now absent wife's bidding, feeling more than a little vexed at being abandoned by her for the rest of the day in favor of some weirdly dressed old English guy.

**XXX**

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Alice arrived in Barnaby Street. Spotting her quarry exiting a little bodega with a bulging plastic bag, she dodged the bustling Christmas shoppers and came to a halt a few feet away from him. Though somewhat prepared for the eccentricity of her friend-to-be, her amber eyes still widened in a mixture of fond astonishment at his bizarre appearance.

The dapper gent was tall and thin, with long silver hair and a flowing silver beard. A long crooked nose supported a pair of half moon glasses over which a pair of twinkling blue eyes peeped, and his lined face crinkled into a smile when a young girl waved cheerily at him before being pulled into a nearby store by her mother. Though old by human standards - easily well over eighty - the old man moved with a sprightly grace that many people half his age would envy.

He moved down the street using a long furled black-and-white umbrella as a cane of sorts. Fashionista that she was, Alice found herself eyeing his deep purple velvet suit, banana yellow striped shirt (which looked suspiciously like a pajama top), white-spotted purple necktie and black-and-white Spats boots with a shake of her head. The bizarre ensemble was completed with a purple bowler hat, which he tipped politely whenever a passer-by paused to stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief (which was often). Yet as strange as his clothes appeared, the look seemed oddly suited to him; or perhaps it was just his obvious indifference to the opinions of others, and the confidence of his gait, which made it seem so.

He was mere feet from her now and Alice, keen to introduce herself to this fascinating human, stepped around an enormously fat man in a sheepskin coat and right into his path.

"Hello."

Her quarry, assuming he was blocking her path, moved deftly aside, allowing her right of way. Silvery eyebrows rose when she stepped towards him instead.

"Hello," she repeated with a smile both in her voice and on her flawless face. "I'm Alice. Alice Cullen. We're going to be good friends."

To her new companion's credit, if Alice's declaration surprised him, he didn't let it show. Instead, bright, intelligent eyes quickly swept her from head to toe, taking in her short dark hair, ivory complexion, knee length dogtooth coat and jeans, before coming back to rest on her amber eyes.

"Good morning, Alice Cullen," said the gent warmly. "So, we are to be good friends, are we? Did the Christmas Fairy tell you that?"

She snickered. "There's no such thing as a Christmas Fairy," she said in amusement. "A Tooth Fairy, maybe. But not a Christmas one. Let's just say instead I have excellent intuition."

"Is that so? How splendid! And how rare for a man of my advanced years to be accosted by a very pretty young woman in the middle of the street and told that she and I are to be good friends! Not that I am complaining, of course. The more friends one has, the merrier, depending on aforementioned friend's disposition. It wouldn't be all that merry if, for example, you were as miserable as a wet Wednesday. Fortunately, you strike me as more of a sunny Saturday, so things are looking up!"

The strange old man politely tipped his bowler hat at her before continuing.

"Well, Miss Cullen, you have just given me the most delightful news I have had since the Weasley twins informed me that they were in serious debate with each other as to whether or not I was 'cooler than their brother Bill'. Granted, they only informed me of this last week, and I am still anxiously awaiting their final decision, but that is neither here nor there."

Blue eyes twinkled at her from across the half-moon spectacles, and Alice giggled. "If we are, as you say, to be friends - and I have at this time no reason to doubt the word of a young lady who demonstrates such excellent taste - then I think it only fair that you permit me to introduce myself. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Some call me Albus, some call me Professor Dumbledore, and others call me a doddering old nincompoop. You may call me whatever you wish."

He tipped his hat in her direction once more, this time sketching a quick bow to accompany it. Alice was completely charmed by his courtesy and manners.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," she replied with a dazzling smile. "Professor ... are you a teacher?"

"I was. Now I have the very great pleasure of being headmaster of the very school I once taught in. It is called Hogwarts. Have you heard of it?"

He watched her expectantly.

"I'm sorry, I haven't. Oh, but I am a tourist," she offered, in explanation of her ignorance.

"I had guessed as much by your delightful accent," replied her companion, in his own delightful accent.

Alice beamed at him. Strangely enough, he did not swoon at the sight - in fact he did not seem to be at all affected by her preternatural beauty, unlike some of the passers-by …

"Cor, give us a kiss, darling!" growled a middle-aged man lustily; he had just crossed the road with his family in tow and ground to a halt in the middle of the slushy sidewalk. His wife slapped him on the head and stormed off in disgust with their two sons in tow, and he turned to run after them, apologising loudly.

"Fancy a shag?" yelled a passing acne-ridden teenage boy, and his friends elbowed each other whilst laughing at his cheek.

"I think, Alice, that it might be a good idea if you and I were to vacate the area before I have to single-handedly fight off a horde of your ardent admirers. Not that I'm incapable of what would surely be such a spectacular feat, but I would hate to make all those fine young men feel like impotent fools after being thrashed by an old codger!" stated Dumbledore conversationally. He crooked an elbow at her in invitation and she accepted it with a happy smile. "As it is, school has just broken up for the Christmas holidays, so you happen to find me today at something of a loose end. Perhaps I might interest you in a spot of afternoon tea? That way we might both sate our hunger and forge our new-found friendship at the same time."

Alice sincerely doubted he would want to see her sating her hunger, but she was happy to go along with the charade of humanity until they had a little more privacy.

"I'd love to share some tea with you," she replied, meaning every word. Dumbledore patted her hand and proceeded to lead her across several roads, round several corners and down several streets.

Having no idea where they were going, Alice followed him dutifully. It was odd, how much she trusted the odd Professor, having met him only moments before; but he exuded an aura of supreme confidence and intelligence that she had only ever before encountered in her adoptive father, Carlisle. How could she not trust him?

"I presume you are on holiday, my dear?" asked Dumbledore as they walked.

"Yes. My husband and I just flew in to London from Italy on our way home. We live in Olympia, Washington."

"Husband?" He surveyed her intently. "Forgive me, Alice. To these old eyes, everyone seems like a teenager."

"Oh, I'm older than I look," she said, grinning up at him. "Much older."

"Of that I have no doubt," he replied shrewdly, leading her to suspect that his clever mind was whirring away, putting the pieces together. She didn't mind: there was something about him that he was hiding too, at least for the moment. But Alice had no doubt that he would reveal his secret once they were away from prying eyes and flapping ears.

Ice cold rain began to fall as they walked and umbrellas shot up all around them, hiding some people from view. Others gasped as they dashed, swearing, for the cover of shops. Dumbledore paused to unfurl his own umbrella and covered them both with it; the rain drummed off it loudly, making further conversation impossible until they reached their destination.

They were half-way down Charing Cross Road when Dumbledore came to a halt outside an old record shop. People continued to flow past them; some eyeing his peculiar attire with dubious expressions, others pausing to gaze in admiration at the exquisite vampire.

"Now, my dear Alice, you have a choice to make," he said, turning to her with a smile. "We may either take our tea at the Prince of Wales, a tiny little pub with a very big personality -" he pointed one long finger in the general direction of the street ahead "- or, if you can tell me what you see directly in front of you, I will see if I might find somewhere slightly less … conventional."

It seemed a strange question, given that - with her superior vision - she could probably see in more detail exactly what was in front of them better than he could. Nevertheless, she was happy to humor him.

"I see an old music store selling gramophones-" she began, thinking that that would be a very unconventional place to take tea "- a pretty generic-looking bookstore, and possibly the oldest bar on the planet - I mean the oldest _pub _on the planet- in between them."

Actually, 'old' was not the word she wanted to use to describe the shabby-looking Leaky Cauldron, but she didn't want to offend her kindly companion's taste in potential eateries by calling it dirty. The windows were so caked in filth that no light penetrated them, and the sign next to the door creaked as it swung stiffly in the wind. Fervently hoping that the inside was in better condition than the outside, but mentally preparing herself to get her expensive clothes dirty, she looked at Dumbledore expectantly. He watched her with a strangely satisfied expression.

"I think, Alice, that you are not quite what you appear to be," he said softly, guiding her a few steps towards the Leaky Cauldron, but stopping just shy of the door. Instantly, people stopped jostling past them, seeming instead to swerve around them. Gone were the curious stares, wistful expressions and occasional lusty comment. In fact, nobody was taking any notice of them at all, which struck Alice as peculiar. It was almost as if she and Dumbledore had disappeared.

Not that she was too concerned with public scrutiny at that moment; all her attention was riveted solely on her new purple-clad friend. His attention was likewise on her; his sparkling eyes searching her face intently. She stared back into them and, knowing she had nothing to fear, responded to his astute remark.

"You're right. But you have nothing to fear from me. No one does."

Dumbledore smiled. "This I already sensed, but it was kind of you to confirm it, my dear. I voiced my thoughts aloud to you only because once we step through that door -" he nodded his head toward the pub entrance" - I will be trusting you to keep everything you see in the strictest of confidence. Of course, the very fact you can see the Leaky Cauldron means I know that my confidence will not be misplaced. Yet I also wish to put _you_ at ease and assure you that any confidences you yourself have to share will be equally safe within _my_ keeping. It may also assure you to know that there are others in the world who may be considered as equally unconventional as yourself, even if it is not in quite the same manner. Do you trust me, Alice?"

She did. She couldn't explain why this was so, knowing so little about him, and having met him mere moments ago, but Alice found that she trusted this eccentric old Englishman as much as any member of her family. What's more, she had suspected there was something different about him during her vision earlier, and had known that it would be something wonderful, something that would change her view on the world forever, even if her vision was oddly vague about the details.

And Alice could hardly wait to find out what those details were.

"Yes, Professor. I trust you completely. I shouldn't, but I do." She lowered her voice. "I trust you enough to tell you I'm a vampire."

She waited for his reaction, half-expecting shock, denial or outright horror. But he looked no more ruffled than if she had just told him she was a chain-smoker.

"Ah," he said, looking strangely satisfied. "I knew there was something, though I didn't quite suspect that. The vampires_ I _know, you see, are generally very different in appearance, and not nearly as pretty as you are, my dear."

Whatever she had expected him to say, it was not that. Momentarily stunned into speechlessness, Alice made no objection when he took her hand and laid it on his arm once more.

"Perhaps we might discuss the differences in your species over tea when we finally reach our destination," he said conversationally, "including the remarkable restraint you show amidst a crowd of humans? And once we have thoroughly exhausted that fascinating subject, we might then discuss the subject of my own … ahem … species."

And without any further explanation as to what he meant, Dumbledore steered the still speechless vampire toward the Leaky Cauldron and opened the door into a whole new world she had never known existed ...

**XXX**

The Leaky Cauldron inside was as equally dismal as it was outside. Grubby and dark, had she not possessed such acute vision Alice might have had trouble discerning the occupants scattered about the room.

An old woman in a pointed hat sat at a table by the window drinking a noxious-smelling liquid from a huge pewter goblet, and burping very loudly. A plump, harried-looking red-haired woman came bustling in from the back of the pub, laden with shopping bags and shooing four equally red-haired children towards a booth further up.

"Sit there and don't move a muscle until I get back," she said darkly, glowering at her twin boys in particular as she dropped numerous bags and packages at the table. "I'm just going to ask Tom if your father's been in yet."

"Don't move a muscle? But the heart's a muscle. D'you mean you want us to drop dead before you get back, Mum?" asked one of the twins, wearing a theatrically wounded expression. The youngest two children snickered into their hands.

"Stop being silly, Fred!" barked their mother, looking slightly horrified.

"Our lungs are muscles, too," proffered the other twin. "So if you really don't want us to snuff it -"

"- or kick the bucket -" added the first.

"- or pop our clogs -"

"- or our dragon-hide boots -"

"You don't have any dragon-hide boots, idiot," interjected the youngest boy.

"Ah, but we will one day, Ronniekins. We will."

"- or expire in any way shape or form," continued the second twin as if there had been no interruption, "then you'd better get back within fifty seconds 'cos we can't hold our breaths any longer than that."

"Although we're working on it," finished the first. Both boys gave their mother a cheeky grin, and both yelped when she cuffed them on the head before turning around and leaving them.

"Dragon-hide boots," enquired Alice of Dumbledore, watching the mother make her way to the bar to ask after her husband. The woman's rowdy offspring were currently rummaging around in a brown paper bag.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Those are the very Weasley twins I mentioned earlier, and a more mischievous pair of boys I haven't met in many a year. Ambitious too, if they're making plans for such a fine set of footwear ..."

Further elaboration was cut short: two men in colorful cloaks, who had been having a heated debate in the far corner of the establishment when they entered, began shouting at each other. One of them banged the table with his fist and stood up before lunging at the other. Someone behind them swore, and Alice turned to find that the wrinkled barkeeper had abandoned his flame-haired customer and was speeding towards them.

"That's enough, you lot!" he cried, stalking angrily towards the combatants.

The four red-haired children watched him eagerly, keen to enjoy the burgeoning fracas, and Alice laughed to hear them excitedly taking bets on whether or not Mr Brown Cloak would 'flatten' Mr Green Cloak before Old Tom reached them.

"Come, my dear," said Dumbledore, patting her hand before manoeuvering them both around tables and combatants toward the other end of the pub. Barely had they taken more than five steps when Mr Green Cloak punched Mr Brown Cloak so hard that his unlucky foe went flying over the table ahead and crashed into another one beside it. Picking himself up, he shook his head furiously, snarled like a wolf, and took a flying leap at his opponent.

Suddenly the flame-haired mother came dashing over from the bar, whipped out a small cylindrical piece of wood, and pointed it between the warring pair.

_"Incarcerous!"_

Alice nearly dropped in shock when ropes leapt out of the wooden stick and bound both Mr Green Cloak and Mr Brown Cloak tightly; they each toppled to the ground like a pair of skittles. Shouting in protest, both men wriggled furiously, trying desperately to free themselves.

"What the -" Alice stammered, but got no further.

"What the bloody hell d'you think you're playing at, Missus?" yelled Mr Brown Cloak, glowering up at the older woman angrily.

"Get these ropes off me right now, you stupid fat hag, or I'll ..." began Mr Green Cloak, but was rudely cut off when she waved her odd little stick at his mouth. His lips clamped themselves firmly together, and though Alice could plainly see that he was trying to speak, the man appeared unable to open his mouth or vocalise anything other than furiously stifled grunts.

"Or you'll what?" demanded the angry mother, one hand gripping her stick, the other planted on a hip as she loomed over him. "Or you'll _what_? Call me more stupid names? That'll really terrify me into setting you loose, won't it?"

Her derisive tone drew chuckles from her children and the other patrons.

"What do you think you're doing anyway, fighting in front of children. MY CHILDREN! I didn't bring them in here so they could watch you two scrapping like Crups over a bone. This is a RESPECTABLE ESTABLISHMENT! Catering to RESPECTABLE PEOPLE!" she screeched irately; the volume of her voice made Alice wince. "Grown men behaving like toddlers! Well, if you insist on behaving like two-year-olds, you'd better expect to be treated like two-year-olds! If you can't sit down and resolve your differences like sensible adults instead of exposing innocent eyes to this shocking level of violence, I will be _more _than happy to throw each of you over my knees and spank you to within an INCH OF YOUR LIVES! YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES!"

From somewhere behind Alice, the unmistakeable voice of a twin said: "It's never wise to let her build up too much steam, she'll only harp on at them all the longer."

"True," added the other. "Not that they have any choice in the matter. Still, Mum can harp on at Green Cloak all day for all I care. Serves the git right for calling her names. What say you we give her a hand Gred?"

"Right you are, Forge."

Wood scraping against wood heralded the sound of twins rising, and seconds later they and their siblings passed Alice and Dumbledore.

"Morning Professor," said one twin, throwing her a cheeky wink as they passed. "Is that your girlfriend?"

"Good morning, Fred," replied Dumbledore, without missing a beat. "Alas, but Alice is far too young to be my beau, and far too sensible to be yours, before you ask."

Alice - still rather dazed by the sight of ropes sprouting from a stick - laughed aloud. Fred, however, did not look in the slightest bit discouraged.

"Fred and Alice. Alice and Fred. Mrs Alice Weasley. 'S'got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

He winked at her again.

"It does," she confirmed honestly, making him beam in delight. "But Jasper might not agree."

"Who's Jasper? Your boyfriend? I hate him already."

Alice laughed again.

"You're twelve, you idiot. Stop flirting!" admonished the little girl, shoving her brother forward.

"So what if I'm twelve? I might prefer mature women, for all you know," retorted Fred, frowning at his sister. His face transformed into a broad grin as he glanced back at Alice. "I'll wait for you, Alice Weasley. Stop two-timing me with that boyfriend of yours and owl me at the Burrow when you're ready to come back home to me and the kids!"

The children were just flanking their (still raging) mother when Dumbledore spoke up.

"Molly seems to be handling the current situation perfectly well without my help," he began, just as the woman – Molly – flicked her stick at the two men. Alice gaped in astonishment as the men rose into the air and were deposited on their respective chairs. "Come, my dear. Allow me to escort you somewhere a little quieter."

Fully unable to move after witnessing such an incredible feat, Dumbledore had to physically guide Alice past the growing crowd and toward a fireplace at the rear of the pub. Molly's furious voice rang out behind them as she continued to admonish her unfortunate victims; it mingled with Tom the barman's gruffer tones, who pleaded with her not to hex his customers too violently.

"Professor, what was that?" asked Alice, finding her own voice again.

"That was an argument, my dear. They happen all too frequently when alcohol is involved." The elderly gent dropped some coins into a stone jar, then dipped his hand into another. "Of course, arguments tend to get a little more ... shall we say _colorful_ when they happen in the Leaky Cauldron."

"That's not what I meant."

Dumbledore withdrew his fist from the jar, and within it he clasped a handful of powder.

"Ah, you mean the ropes. The levitation."

"Levitation. It was more like -" Alice searched for the right word "- like magic! How did that lady – Molly – how did she do that? Is she telekinetic?"

Her eyebrows rose in surprise when her companion shook his head, chuckling. What was so funny?

"Telekinetic? Now that is a Muggle word I haven't heard for a few years. But it doesn't apply to Molly, who can move neither objects nor people with the power of her mind. No, she is something altogether different. As are her children, and everyone else you have seen in the Leaky Cauldron, including myself." He gave her a searching glance, then smiled. "You strike me as an intelligent and perceptive young lady, Alice Cullen. Surely you have guessed the truth by now? You have already said it, don't you realise that?"

She had. But it was so outrageous that she could hardly believe it. "You can't mean ... _magic_? But how can that be? Magic doesn't exist."

Dumbledore own eyebrows rose. "Ah, but there are those who would say that _vampires_ don't exist."

It was an excellent point. But still: magic.

_Magic!_

"I see you need a little more convincing," said Dumbledore thoughtfully, dropping the powder back into the jar. He brushed the dust from his fingers and withdrew a wooden stick of his own from one of his purple pockets. "Perhaps an alternative and more dramatic mode of transport might do the job?"

Alice eyed the empty fireplace in puzzlement. "More dramatic than what? Where exactly _are_ we going?"

"We are going to my office, where I do believe the ambience is a little more conducive to conversation than our present location. But first, I think a little stopover in the village of Hogsmeade would not be completely out of the question. If I know young ladies – and I do know a great deal of them – then you would no doubt care for a spot of shopping before tea. We may enjoy the stroll from there to Hogwarts afterwards."

Alice had no time to question him further before Dumbledore called out:

"Fawkes!"

A brief, bright flash followed, and Alice had to shield her eyes until it dissipated. It lasted less than a second, but when she lowered her hand, she gasped.

Sitting on Dumbledore's shoulder was the most magnificent bird she had ever seen. With crimson plumage, a long golden tail and intelligent black eyes, it gazed at her imperiously, looking not the slightest bit threatened by her. This was an unusual occurrence, given what she was, but Alice was too stunned by its sudden appearance and grandeur to marvel at this.

"Where did it ... how did it ... I don't understand," she began, dazed and a little frustrated that her foresight had given her so little detail about this incredible place, and her incredible host.

"Fawkes is my familiar," said Dumbledore, stroking the beautiful bird's head.

"Familiar?" Alice enquired, unable to deny her suspicions any longer. "But only witches in storybooks have familiars."

"Not just in storybooks, my dear. And not just witches," he said evenly.

Incredulity was written all over her face. "Are you telling me -"

"That I'm a wizard?" Blue eyes sparkled down at her. "Yes, my dear Alice. That is exactly what I am telling you. I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, am a wizard."

A loud yell behind them made both turn around, and Alice saw that the fighting men – who had rather unwisely been freed - were now at each others throats once more. Molly, apparently raging that they had broken a promise to behave like civilised people, was shouting at both in disgust, and using her magic stick to enchant a large pewter jug. It lifted itself magically into the air before taking turns to whack first one, then the other man over the head. Flame-haired Weasley children chortled and egged her on with chants of 'Get the gits, Mum!', while poor Tom the barman sank into a chair and buried his bald head in his hands.

Dumbledore sighed. "Welcome to civilisation, my dear. Welcome to the wizarding world."

Alice laughed in pure delight.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note: _A bit rough around the edges, but I was eager to start posting this story before I went to bed. This prequel to 'Food, Glorious Food!' will be three chapters long, no more. Honestly. _Honestly!_


	2. Alakazam

**Disclaimer: **The Twilight series belongs to Stephenie Meyer, etc, etc. All other recognisable names or products belong to JK Rowling. I am making no profit from this rather dubious attempt to dabble in both worlds.

**Credit: **Twilight and HP wikias, HP encyclopedia, Mugglenet. Also, a nod to Queen for the use of their (fabulous!) song title.

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The journey to Hogsmeade was the quickest, most incredible experience Alice had ever had (that didn't involve Jasper). Seconds ago, she and Professor Dumbledore were standing in the Leaky Cauldron (listening to Misters Green and Brown Cloak begging Molly Weasley for mercy), and now they were here; standing on the outskirts of a magical village several hundred miles away in Scotland, courtesy of Professor Dumbledore's beautiful red-and-gold bird, Fawkes!

And how had Fawkes managed it?

Alice had no idea. All she knew for certain was that Dumbledore had clutched her hand, grasped onto Fawkes's beautiful golden tail, then _poof! _Before she knew what had happened, everything disappeared in a very bright flash.

Amazing! Fawkes' almost instantaneous manner of travel made a speeding vampire look like a comatose snail.

If there was such a thing.

Snow fell around them, and there was a definite chill in the air. Thankfully, it had no effect on her, but her dapper companion shivered a little.

"You're cold!" she noted with concern.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear Alice," he replied, lifting what she now knew to be called a wand and waving it lazily over his purple coat. She gasped when the hem sprouted down, covering the length of his legs until it brushed against the snowy ground. It seemed to grow thicker also, and luxurious black fur erupted around the collar and down its length, until he was now wearing an extremely cosy greatcoat.

Pulling the furry collar up, Dumbledore snuggled it against his neck. "There. Much better!"

Blue eyes twinkled down at her, and Alice beamed up at him happily.

What a wonderful old man!

No - what a wonderful _wizard_! To take her admission of being a vampire in his stride, then entrust her with this secret of his own ...

Amber eyes gazed rapturously at the magical sight before them. If she thought the Leaky Cauldron had been an eye-opener, it was nothing – absolutely_ nothing_ – compared to the wonder of Hogsmeade.

"It's like a Christmas card come to life!" she squealed ecstatically, her superior vision dancing from one snow-laden roof to another, roving through streets glowing golden with Victorian lamps, and peering at the brightly coloured windows of the village's many shops, whose reflections sparkled prettily off the pristine snow.

_They look like jewels! _she thought, in a state of near-bliss.

"I am delighted that you approve. Hogsmeade _is_ a pretty little place at the best of times, and most especially so at this time of year."

"Oh, Professor, it's wonderful! Wonderful!"

Chuckling, he nodded. "It's also the only settlement in Great Britain inhabited solely by magical beings. A genuine wizarding village!" Turning to Fawkes, he offered the magnificent bird his plastic bag. "Would you be so kind, my old friend?"

With a stately nod, Fawkes accepted it before disappearing in another bright flash. Dumbledore eyed his guest, who was still soaking up the marvellous sight ahead. "Now that I have been relieved of my burden, perhaps I might have the very great honor of escorting you around the village proper?"

He gallantly offered her a purple-clad arm, which Alice accepted, and they began their walk down the wintry path into Hogsmeade. People streamed up and down the village ahead bundled in warm (though bizarre) clothing; some of them offered the headmaster greetings when they reached the High Street, others scurried past, heads down, coats drawn tightly across their chests to ward off the cold; some headed away from Hogsmeade laden with shopping bags; others chased after their eager offspring as they doubled back towards a store called Honeydukes.

"A sweetshop," explained Dumbledore when she glanced at him questioningly. "What you may know better as a candy store. My favorite place in the whole village, as it happens, and one you might find rather interesting yourself."

He waggled his eyebrows, and Alice giggled, even though she doubted his claim. What could possibly interest a vampire in a candy store (other than its tasty patrons, who would be of no interest to her at all, gastronomically speaking)?

Wonder was written plainly on her beautiful face as they passed the first snow-topped houses, most of which boasted holly wreaths on their doors. They looked so _small_, so delightfully quaint, that Alice felt almost as if she had taken a step back in time to a much earlier age.

"Morning, Albus!" called one old man in a thick Scottish brogue, waving cheerfully as – to Alice's delight – he cleared the pathway to his house with a flick of his wand. The snow sprang up at his command and reformed itself in the middle of the garden (in the shape of a snowman, with snowy arms and legs to boot).

"Good morning, Cuthbert. I see you're expecting the grandchildren for the holidays," noted Dumbledore, gesturing at the snowman with a nod of his head.

Cuthbert winked at Alice before grinning toothlessly in reply to the stately wizard. "Aye, that I am. The wee horrors!"

The Scotsman chuckled fondly.

"Then allow me to make a few additions to your already excellent efforts." Dumbledore waved his wand in a lazy pattern, and seconds later the snowman boasted a rather smashing Santa suit. Another brisk wave of his wand later, and the snowman began to caper around the garden; suddenly it bent down, scooped up several handfuls of snow, which it formed into perfectly round balls, and began juggling them high in the air.

Alice clapped her hands in delight, and the snowman sketched a grateful bow. Laughing, she let Dumbledore claim her right hand and lead her away.

"That was amazing!" she gushed, throwing the snowman one final glance (it had reformed the snowballs into a giant heart shape and was now holding it out beseechingly in her direction). "Did you say _everyone_ here is a witch or wizard?" she asked, eyeing the passing humans speculatively.

"Yes, though there are other magical beings, too," he answered, smiling down at her.

"_Other_ magical beings?" So intrigued by the statement was she that Alice paid the first few stores they passed little heed.

Dumbledore nodded. "Ghouls in attics, a house-elf or three – though they're mainly kept by the larger households on the village outskirts. Goblins from Gringotts Wizarding Bank who visit regularly on business – some villagers have neither the time nor the inclination to travel all the way to London simply to make withdrawals from their accounts. The goblins rent a room at the Hog's Head once a week – twice during Christmas – from which they conduct smaller financial transactions for the locals. As a matter of fact, Rozbuk and Nagrod should be there today."

Ghouls, house-elfs and _goblins_? Seriously?

One look at his his aged face told her that Dumbledore was perfectly serious.

Shaking her head incredulously, Alice took the time to look around a little. They were just passing a store called Zonko's Joke Shop, which had large bay windows advertising wares such as Dungbombs and - her eyebrows shot up.

"Nose-Biting _Teacups_?" she exclaimed.

Her companion smiled. "Oh, yes. I had one on April Fool's Day this year, as a matter of fact – it almost bit the end of my nose clean off when I was trying to enjoy my hot chocolate. Fortunately I have rather a generous nose, so there was plenty left over."

"Why would you buy a carnivorous cup?" she exclaimed, aghast.

"I didn't. I merely said I _had_ one, not that I bought one. I strongly suspect it was a gift from a certain pair of Weasley twins, though how they managed to smuggle it onto the teachers' table when there were over four hundred people present even I can't tell. In fact, I was so impressed that I awarded them ten House points each – after I reclaimed my nose, that is. You really have to admire their ingenuity."

Recalling the redheaded brothers, Alice grinned. Emmett would love them!

"If you're looking for something a little less carnivorous, we've just passed Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop," said Dumbledore, steering her back around. They walked a few paces then stopped, and he pointed a long finger at a store on the street corner, which had pheasant feather quills in the window display.

"Oh! Carlisle would _love_ those!" cried Alice. Turning to her companion, she elaborated. "Carlisle is my adoptive father; he was born in the seventeenth century originally, so quills would have been the main writing implement. Not that he uses them any more, not in this day and age – and certainly not in his role as a doctor. But, oh! For the sheer nostalgia of it all!"

"The seventeenth century? At last. Someone older than me," joked the aged professor. He turned in one graceful move and began to lead her across the street toward Scrivenshafts. "If you think your father would like them so much, perhaps you ought to buy some," he suggested with a smile.

She would love to – she really would. But something occurred to her just then. Something that had never happened to her in the whole course of her existence (and if her visions hadn't been so strangely affected by this magical environment, it would not have happened here either).

"I'm not sure I can, unless magical shops accept credit cards," she declared, crestfallen. And rather embarrassed, too. As a Cullen, she had access to an unimaginable fortune; it was a unique (and rather uncomfortable) sensation to be completely unable to use a dime of it. Yet dimes _or_ pennies, somehow she had the feeling that normal human money might be worthless here. "I do have some petty cash, but it's pounds sterling."

Dumbledore appeared supremely unconcerned by this revelation. "Don't concern yourself with that, my dear. Choose whatever you wish, and let it be my Christmas gift to you."

Touched by his generosity, Alice nonetheless objected.

"You're very kind, but I couldn't do that. I _have_ more money than I could ever spend – even in a vampire's lifetime. It's just that I don't have any wizarding currency. Besides, you haven't seen the damage I can do shopping – I'd clean you out in one store!"

He laughed. "I doubt it. As headmaster of a Wizarding school, not only am I paid very handsomely, but I also have free room and board all year long, no family to lavish my earnings upon, and no particularly expensive habits to squander them with, unless you count an addiction to Sherbert Lemons as expensive – which, given the quantities in which I purchase them, you might be justified in doing. Nevertheless, there is still plenty left over to accommodate the havoc one or two hours shopping in Hogsmeade might inflict upon my account, even by the most enthusiastic of ladies. Still -" he spared a glance at the street leading to their right "- if it makes you feel better, we could pay a visit to the Gringotts goblins. We might make an arrangement with them to have any fees you incur deducted straight from your Muggle account."

"'Muggle'?"

"Ah, forgive me. A Muggle is somebody who lacks any sort of magical ability, or who was not born into the magical world."

"I see. So is that possible? To deduct money from my Muggle account?" Alice asked hopefully. When he nodded, she squeezed his arm gently and beamed.

Turning back, he stepped onto the road and led her back across the street, then down a narrow lane nestled between shops and private dwellings. Soon they were entering the Hog's Head (another grubby pub; this one with floors so dirty they could have been mistaken for earth).

With a friendly greeting to the barkeeper – who bore a strong resemblance to Dumbledore (and who glared at them), Alice was led upstairs into the room that was currently being used by aforementioned goblins. If there had ever been a bed in it, there was no evidence of it now; the room was bare except for a long wooden table by the north wall, behind which sat Rozbuk and Nagrod.

It was one of the most surreal experiences of her life, meeting the goblins. Small and wizened, they had dark skin, large bald heads and pointed ears. One sported a short, pointy beard. Both wore dark cloaks with a golden 'G' on the left lapel, which she presumed stood for 'Gringotts', and their dark eyes narrowed at her suspiciously, though they showed no fear of her.

"Good morning, Rozbuk, Nagrod," said Dumbledore pleasantly, nodding first left, then right.

"Ah, Professor Dumbledore," said the one on the left - Rozbuk. "How unusual to see you here. And who is your vampire friend?"

Alice nearly did a double-take.

How did he know what she was? Even Dumbledore hadn't known until she'd told him.

The goblin sneered in her direction (though it might have been a smile – it was difficult to tell with such an unusually put-together being – they even smelled strange). "There are as many species of vampires as there are days of the week," he said in his low, throaty voice, sounding incredibly smug. "You needn't think yourself so unusual."

If that statement hadn't been so astonishing, she might have thought Rozbuk a colossal jerk for his rudeness.

"Is that so? The knowledge of goblins never ceases to amaze me," said Dumbledore, diffusing any tension with his affable manner. "You might come to Hogwarts one afternoon and elaborate on the subject. Perhaps over a nice cup of tea?"

Rozbuk's hairy eyebrows drew together. "I might, were you only the Headmaster. But you are also Supreme Mugwump, and we would prefer not to share all our secrets with the Ministry."

Where Alice was irked by the goblin's tone, Dumbledore was completely unfazed, and she found herself admiring his even temperament once again.

"Perhaps another time, then," replied the elderly wizard smoothly. "For the moment, my delightful companion wishes to discuss a matter of business."

And so they spent the next forty minutes immersed in financial conversation. At their request, Alice handed over her bank card; watching as they touched it with their long fingers (it glowed bright orange, and she though it might melt. Mercifully, it didn't). She listened as they huddled over it, chanting (in a strange, guttural language she had never heard before).

Returning her card, Rozbuk drew a sheet of straw-colored parchment from his little briefcase to draw up a contract. Having written it out swiftly, in a surprisingly elegant script, his dark eyes glittered up at her briefly. "Presuming you have no blood of your own to offer for the sealing of it," he announced, pointing to the contract, "I must insist that you provided a lock of hair."

His tone, though brisk and impersonal, was not offensive, and Alice quickly came to realise that this was simply the goblins' general manner. She yanked a few dark strands free from her head and surrendered them up. Soon thereafter, the financial arrangement was complete, whereby the equivalent value of the bag of gold - or Galleons - they handed her was automatically debited from her 'Muggle' account.

"Is it possible for you to do that when you don't have any Muggle branches?" she asked curiously, accepting the bulging bag.

The second goblin - Nagrod - sniffed almost impatiently. "Anything is possible with goblin magic. Already the value of the bag you hold has been deducted from your account, inclusive of the fees for our service." Which were substantial, given that it was such an unusual service. "Should you care to open an official account with Gringotts at any future date -" continued Nagrod, looking up at her wistfully (because he had just learned she was richer than an _entire clan_ of Malfoys) "- do not hesitate to contact me personally. I will gladly be at your service."

He handed her a small green card embossed with gold, which bore the name and address of Gringotts Wizarding Bank in archaic golden script, and his own name directly underneath. Thanking him, Alice pocketed it, so thrilled with the thought of having an account in a wizarding bank that she instantly forgave both goblins their abruptness.

Once business was concluded, Alice put the bulging bag of wizarding gold in her purse, thanked the goblins politely (they reluctantly flashed their teeth at her in what she supposed was meant to be a smile, though it looked more like they were either growling or wincing in pain), and - accepting Dumbledore's arm once again – she left the room, then the Hog's Head, feeling more than ready to clear any store she passed of all its wares.

As irritating as it might have been, not having proper access to her visions because of magical interference, Alice nonetheless found shopping without the benefit of foresight to be a hugely enjoyable experience. It wasn't often she could walk into a store and browse, and she loved every minute of it. No sooner had they left the goblins than she and Dumbledore arrived in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

"It's so _darling_!" she cried, admiring the huge variety of writing implements on display on every surface of the store: styli, long and tapering, were on display at the far wall, and they boasted elaborate carvings on their heads; on a counter nearby, dip pens and reed pens sat by fat stacks of papyrus; pots of wax pencils in every imaginable color were propped upon shelves. A plethora of quill pens were displayed all over the shop: by the window, on a counter by the cash register, on yet more shelves circling the walls, and on an island display in the center of the room.

Alice's eyes boggled as she took in the sheer variety of feathers the quills were made from: goose, raven, swan, pheasant, duck, a rather spectacular one which was unmistakably peacock, and many, many more whose origin she couldn't identify. Pink feathers, green feathers, yellow feathers, midnight blue feathers, orange-and-black spotted feathers ...

Dumbledore willingly surrendered her arm so that she could move about freely, and Alice blissfully immersed herself in browsing through the multitude of pens, pounce pots, inkpots, powder pots, papyrus, vellums, parchments, blotter paper, reed- and quill-knives, and many other fascinating wares.

Who knew writing implements and accoutrements could be so _fabulous_?

As reluctant as she was to leave Scrivenshafts, Alice did not want to spend so much time in one store that she ran out of time to see everything else. So it was that, with much wistful sighing, she found herself at the cash register (an ornate, Victorian-looking affair) paying for her numerous purchases. Dumbledore insisted on carrying the pretty ivory bag (which bore an elaborate pheasant-feather quill motif) which the portly proprietor handed her, and soon they were on their way back out onto the snowy street.

"That was so much fun!" declared Alice, who was inordinately pleased with her purchases. Already she was imagining Carlisle's delighted expression when he opened his wonderful Christmas gift.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Dumbledore cheerfully, as he led her down the street to the next store. "Now, let's see what damage we can inflict on that bag of Galleons in the next shop, eh?"

Shopping with the professor was a wonderfully unique experience. Unlike most men she knew, his patience was limitless, and he seemed to take great pleasure in showing her around every store in Hogsmeade. Not once did he complain that he was bored as they browsed around Dervish and Banges, or Gladrags Wizardwear (where she bought seven full-length travelling cloaks), or moan that she was taking too long in Zonkos (where she purchased several items for Emmett and Jasper). Indeed, he was as keen to show her all that the village had to offer as she was to discover it.

Two hours (and several bags) later (which the professor duly shrank and pocketed, much to her delight), Dumbledore steered her up the snowy High Street once more, and, turning right, they fought their way through crowds of ruddy-faced Hogwarts students who had opted to stay at school for the holidays, and on towards Honeydukes sweet shop.

As they walked toward the brightly painted store, the green door opened. A gaggle of teenage girls exited, followed by a tall, thin man wearing a long black cloak with a high collar. His hairline was shaped into a prominent widows' peak, and his skin was as pale as snow. Bloodshot eyes were fixed on the back of the chattering girls' wool-encased necks, not wavering once as he stepped nimbly around other shoppers.

The air seemed to still suddenly as Alice's mind swirled.

Pale skin. Bloodshot eyes. High-collared cloak. An obvious predilection for pretty young girls. And from what Alice could hear – or _not_ hear – no heartbeat.

She was shocked into a standstill.

Was he? Could he possibly be ..?

Was he a _vampire_?

But, no. Surely not. The guy looked like he had just stepped out of a Bram Stoker novel. Everything about him screamed cliché. He simply couldn't be a vampire – she had never heard of any kind other than her own. At least, not until she had met Dumbledore that morning. The professor himself had alluded to it, though - given all the wonders she had witnessed since - that fact had been pushed from her mind.

Rozbuk's words came back to her at that moment.

"_There are as many species of vampires as there are days of the week … You needn't think yourself so unusual."_

Could the goblin have spoken the truth? She hadn't _really_ believed him, despite the fact he had identified her for what she was so quickly; she had thought he was teasing her. Yet perhaps she had dismissed his remarks too readily, accrediting his astuteness as nothing more than a trait of his kind. It was possible, wasn't it? After all, what did she know about the abilities of goblins?

But the evidence in front of her was quite overwhelming: Dracula-style vampires _did _appear to walk the earth!

Alice was still rooted to the spot when the girls passed, unable to move as the stranger drew nearer. Amber eyes locked on his mouth when the stranger's tongue darted out to moisten his scarlet lips, and then widened impossibly upon catching sight of two pointed incisors …

"Hello, Professor!" shouted one of the girls as they passed, and the whole lot of them waved cheerily at their headmaster. Dumbledore nodded at them in greeting before deliberately blocking their pale admirer's path.

"Good afternoon, Gaynor," he said, his blue eyes crinkling as he smiled, his voice pleasant and even.

"Ah. Professor Dumbledore," murmured Gaynor absently in a crisp European accent, though his English was impeccable. Although he acknowledged the professor's presence, he was still tracking the girls with his eyes. "How nice to see you again."

"A surprising remark, given that you haven't actually seen me at all," commented Dumbledore, stepping directly up to Gaynor, and thus bringing the vampire to a halt. "You are too busy watching my students. _My _students."

There was a subtle change in the professor's tone that Alice couldn't fail to catch: a cooler, dangerous note. Gaynor's gaze snapped instantly from the crowd of girls to Dumbledore's face, and he held up two pale hands in supplication.

"You are mistaken, old friend," he stated disarmingly. "I was simply admiring their colorful scarves, and wondering whether or not I ought to purchase one for myself. This collar, however high, is but a poor defense against the harshness of a Scottish winter."

"Then allow me to direct you to Gladrags Wizardwear, which you'll find just a few yards up the road -" Dumbledore raised one purple-clad arm and gestured pointedly to their right "- that way. In quite the opposite direction from where my students are currently headed. Not that the latter bothers you, I'm sure, knowing as you now do where to secure your scarf."

The warning was unspoken, but hung heavily in the air, magnified when Dumbledore pulled out his wand and started twirling it casually.

"I am not bothered at all," Gaynor assured him, eyeing the wand nervously and flashing his fangs in the fakest smile Alice had ever seen. "In fact, I am indebted to you. Now I might purchase my - how do you say - 'winter woolies' without any further delay." The vampire's gaze strayed now to Alice, and his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Tell me, Albus, who is your charmingly bloodless companion?"

"I'm Alice. Alice Cullen," stated Alice, and the pair stared at each other for a few moments.

"You have no heartbeat," Gaynor declared boldly.

"Neither do you. And you're out in the daylight. Shouldn't you be imploding or something?"

He sniffed disgustedly. "That is a remark I would have expected from an ignorant Muggle who has watched too much television and not read enough books, not from a fellow immortal. Even that ridiculous Irish author knows more than you: we do not burn in the daylight, any more than your kind. We are simply more powerful at night."

Daylight might not burn Alice, but curiosity certainly was. Stepping forward eagerly, she asked, "How is that you know about my kind, but all that we know about yours is what we read from books or watch in movies? I thought you were no more than a myth."

"Which is as it should be. You see, we simply blend in better than your kind," said Gaynor in a faintly mocking tone (which really annoyed her). His nostrils flared, and he arched a thin eyebrow as regarded her down the length of his nose. "It also helps that we don't glitter in the sunlight. Vampires are supposed to be dark, alluring and mysterious; we are supposed to petrify and terrify our victims before they succumb to our will. We are not supposed to be pretty or shiny or enchanting in the manner of a fairy unicorn. _That_ is why you have not heard of us – we do not wish to associate with people who give our kind a bad name. Sparkly vampires, indeed. What nonsense!"

With that, Gaynor grabbed one side of his cloak and threw it dramatically over the opposite shoulder before stalking off without so much as a 'goodbye'. Alice was stunned for a few moments, before finally breaking into a fit of uncontrollable giggling.

What a jerk!

Together with Dumbledore, she watched as (staring longingly after the disappearing gaggle of girls) Gaynor disappeared down the road towards Gladrags in search of a scarf he would probably never use.

"Pay no attention to him," said her tall companion, lifting her hand and placing it on his arm. "He's very territorial, and might possibly perceive you as a threat to his food source."

"Food source?" exclaimed Alice, taken aback by the careless manner in which Dumbledore referred to his students. Catching her expression, Dumbledore chuckled.

"Forgive me, my dear. I'm not speaking of my fellow human beings. He has quite curbed his appetite of them, despite his continuing fascination for pretty necks. An admirable feat on his part, given that he was infamous for feasting on entire villages in the Middle Ages. Gaynor the Drainer, he was known at that time, before he was captured and, er, 'reconditioned' by the Albanian Ministry of Magic."

"There's a Ministry of Magic in Albania?" gasped Alice.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course," he said matter-of-factly. "There's one in almost every country in the world, including America."

Staggered by the revelation, it was all Alice could do not to gape like an idiot.

"But we were talking of Gaynor's diet," continued the aged professor. "The food source I was speaking of lies inside."

He indicated Honeydukes with a nod of his silver head, before leading the puzzled vampire towards it.

What source of food could Gaynor possibly have found to survive on in a candy store?

It not being her preferred diet, the smell of sugar and honey which hit Alice as they stepped into Honeydukes tickled at her nostrils. Yet it was not an unpleasant sensation, and she couldn't deny the allure of the store. Honeydukes was filled with happy, chattering children in thick warm coats, most of whom fawned over brightly colored displays of the most unusually named candies Alice had ever heard of: Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans, Sugar Quills, Shock-o-Chocs (brandishing the slogan _Add some SHOCK to your Choc-o-late_), Toothflossing Stringmints, Tapdancing Treacles, Finger-Licking Fudges, Fairy Cakes (with edible fairies) and a huge green box of – Alice blinked in astonishment – Watercolor Windbags (which claimed to put the 'art' in fart).

"What on earth ..?" she began.

Dumbledore followed her gaze and smiled. "Ah, yes. A great favorite of Lee Jordan's. Chocolate covered raisins which encourage flatulence. When they work their particular brand of magic, the gas emitted initially forms itself into the shape of whatever it's going to smell like seconds later: decaying fish, rotten eggs, hot carrots. The slogan should really read 'Putting the gas in class' because students adore them, especially when used during their least favorite subjects – they're rife in History of Magic and Potions. The teachers hate them, of course, because it disrupts lessons, but I like to think of them as an early warning system, of sorts. Gives me plenty of time to conjure up a Bubble-Head Charm."

Alice threw back her dark head and laughed, and the tinkling sound of it drew admiring glances from the group of children who had been fighting over the last box of Watercolor Windbags.

"Come, Alice; let me show you to a section that you might find of particular interest. And you might want to get the Galleons out, because something tells me you'll be raiding the entire wall."

Intrigued by the statement, she let him lead her past happy teenagers clustered around shelves filled with creamy nougat, coconut ice and hundreds of different chocolates; past a wall selling 'Special Effects' sweets, which housed not only the Watercolor Windbags, but also Droobles Best Blowing Gum and Pepper Imps, among other wares; then around a barrel filled with Every Flavour beans, until finally they came to the back of the shop, where a large sign hung upon the wall. It read 'Unusual Tastes', and beneath it was shelf after shelf, and row after row, of …

Oh. My. Goodness.

Alice's eyes nearly popped out of her very pretty head when they landed on a ball-like structure on the middle shelf, out of which long white sticks protruded like ivory stems. On the end of the sticks, huge circular red candies were covered in a clear wrapping, upon which the name 'Blood Lollipops' was emblazoned in lurid yellow print. Beside the display were black-and-red boxes full of the lollipops, and the boxes sported a picture of a very clichéd-looking vampire (which bore a strong resemblance to Gaynor).

"That's not … that can't be ..."

"Actual blood? No. It's made from the key component found in Blood Replenishing Potion; but it looks and tastes exactly like the real thing. Of course, all these products are scentless, so as not to excite a vampire's natural lust for human blood – which is handy, given where we currently find ourselves. But they still taste like the real thing, and I am told they do sate a vampire's desire for blood – something which spares many human lives."

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes roamed the long shelves, taking in the fabulous wares on sale.

Could it be true? Could all these wonderful products truly replace the need to hunt humans? Not that her family did anyway, but Jasper struggled more than the others, and this could really help him.

The possibility of easing her husband's battle with his inner demon electrified her.

"_Plasma Pop_," she breathed, picking up an electric green bottle. "Ninety five percent plasma and five percent pop."

A giggle escaped her lips, and quickly she reached for another bottle, this time a crystal one with a label declaring it to be Leukocyte Liqueur.

"Is this ..?"

"Alcohol? Yes."

Oh my goodness. Vampire booze!

On the bottle's label, a buxom vampire in a tight red dress sipped a glass of pale yellow liquid, then dabbed elegantly at her lips with a napkin.

"The vampire on the label is moving!" she cried, astonished.

"I know. Wonderful, isn't it?"

Wonderful? Alice laughed. "You really are the master of understatement!" she exclaimed, placing both bottles back on the shelf and reaching for a red-and-orange carton. Upon it was the picture of a steaming bowl of what seemed to be soup, though the script emblazoned across it declared it to be Haematocrit Heaven.

"Sanguini tells me that that is the vampire version of tomato soup."

She snickered, though not because of the charming way he pronounced 'tomato'.

"Sanguini?" Alice asked, hardly daring to believe it. "As in _exsanguinate_ – to drain of blood? Is that a joke?"

"Not at all," replied Dumbledore, chuckling. "It is a rather fitting name for a vampire though, don't you think?"

He winked at her, and she laughed aloud. A vampire called Sanguini. What a hoot!

Her eyes roamed the shelves once more, and her smile broadened as they flitted from Erythrofries to Blood Burgers, from Spicy Cellsa Sauce to Platelet Pasties, from Albumints to Deep Vein Thrombochips, from foamy melt-in-the-mouth Serum Sensations to Immunoglobu-Gin (a very potent spirit, or so Dumbledore informed her).

"I don't understand how this is all possible," she breathed, not _really_ caring how it was possible, but simply allowing herself to thrill in the fact that it was.

"Magic, Alice," came Dumbledore's wonderfully reassuring voice. "Magic makes it possible."

So saying, he plucked a Blood Lollipop from the display and offered it to her. "The first one is my treat, dear girl."

Hardly daring to breath, Alice reached out, unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.

Her face lit up in utter astonishment as the rich, sweet, coppery taste filled her mouth and, closing her eyes, Alice sighed blissfully.

Dumbledore was right: it _was _magic!

Seconds later, the luscious lollipop was history, and with a huge beaming smile, Alice gestured at the entire wall with one grand sweep of her arm. "I'll take the lot," she exclaimed happily.

"Alas for poor Gaynor," drawled Dumbledore. "It looks like he's going hungry after all - at least until Ambrosius restocks."

"And how long will that be?"

"At least a week, I should think."

Alice grinned wickedly. "Maybe I'll leave him a Plasma Pop to tide him over until then, given how charming he was when I met him."

"That's very generous of you," retorted Dumbledore, whose eyes sparkled merrily.

"What can I say? I'm that kind of girl."

And, laughing conspiratorially, they made their way up to the cash register to place Alice's humungous order.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Apologies if the chapter is rife with incorrect American English. I'm Scottish, you see, and though I try my best, sometimes I miss the spelling nuances of American English (either because I'm totally ignorant of it, or because I've proofed it for the umpteenth time and can't be arsed reading my own story again).

*winks*

One more chapter to go, folks. Thanks for reading.

Kara's Aunty ;)


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